


What Are You Waiting For? (Kiss Him)

by believresneverdie (orphan_account)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crushes, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pining, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy), patrick has a girlfriend., pete is in love with patrick. like a lot, shit happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-16 17:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16499891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/believresneverdie
Summary: Pete is in the middle of a solar eclipse. The sun has gone away, and all there is to see now is an endless array of shadow. Everything that the sun watched over and created, all those years ago, he has abandoned. He supposes it’s common for creators to become afraid of their own creations. He assumed Patrick was better than that.In which a failed proposal brings them closer than ever.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnitchesAndTalkers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnitchesAndTalkers/gifts).



> A gift for one of my favorite writers! I was extremely nervous about gifting to her, but I ended up doing it just because I really appreciate everything she's written and she was a GIGANTIC inspiration to this work, lol. Hope it's good enough? Unbeta'd as always :p. If you're up for that, feel free to comment, by the way. This has eaten up several weeks of my life, thus my inactivity for the last couple months. Hope this is well worth it.

Early morning over the Pacific Ocean, and Pete is watching him slumber.

 

He is a wing, a singular source of liberation in this miserable earth. He is a prayer, holy as the midnight and the stars that appear in tandem.

 

Patrick is a human romantic-comedy for our generation. A cult classic and a commercial flop wrapped into one big Christmas present. Pete hasn't seen anything more awful or more magnificent in his 29 years on this earth. Is it a curse? A blessing? Just because something is “meant to be” didn’t mean it’s meant to turn out for everyone concerned. What about “meant to be crushed”? “Meant to be harmed”? They’re meant to be a catastrophe, and the former seems to realize it better than anybody in the world right now. Patrick is oblivious, but the handsome ones do always seem to be the most clueless. Patrick is the orchestra to Pete’s late-night bucket-drumming. He is Drew Barrymore to his Adam Sandler, and fuck Pete if Patrick isn’t the world’s cutest sleeper.

 

“I worship you,” Pete whispers against smooth hair, blond as the fields of wheat he saw in their trip over Asia. He can’t help but form the connection when Patrick loves those exotic regions. Pete recalls vivid memories of the singer begging Pete to _“come on, explore the culture with me, we have a day here”_. Pete would much rather off himself than have another taste of rural Asian street food, but at least the boy’s happy. The vocalist’s not left Chicago before, so Pete gives him the chance to do it all while he’s still youthful and charming. He doesn’t point out how it makes him grin at night to think about Patrick’s pretty lips setting into a smile. The sentiment surrenders itself to the younger man’s groans as he turns in his sleep. Pete rustles Patrick’s hair and holds a kiss to his forehead. _If only he was awake to see it_ , Pete thinks. If only he knew. Infinity on High napkins come by the dozen on this plane, and they’re used for everything. By “ _everything_ ”, Pete means everything, because right now he’s slipping one into the part between Patrick’s rosy lips. Pete prepares for Hurricane Patrick. As he takes shelter in his chair, the younger man attains awareness and sputters out the cloth in shock.  


“Might’ve fucking died, Wentz,” he seethes, with a slim hint of parody in his tone. “What would you do if I’d died? Would you be working on the highways, pleading for cash? I put you in order, Peter, you’re lucky I didn’t fucking choke and perish.” The two of them roar, from intense sleep deprivation or from the sheer madness that only touring could do to a man. “I fucking despise you,” Patrick guffaws, ripping remains of napkin bits from the corners of his lip.

 

Joe’s asleep, as always, but Andy didn’t let them get away. It is obvious to understand why they call him Animal. "You fucking losers need to get a room," Andy hisses, "this has gotten out of control. Can't a guy get some sleep every once in a while?"

 

And with that, Patrick's inner dad senses seem to kick in. "Yeah, Pete, he's right. We need to sleep. We've got some big shows coming in the next few weeks, and if you try to make me eat another fucking napkin I'll kill you." It's enough to make a man like Pete want to throw Andy out of the plane right then and there, because _that was his chance_. With a groan and a dismissive scowl, he returns to his mock-slumber, but the feeling stays. He wishes there was a way to make Happy Patrick come to stay more, and so a way to get rid of Grumpy Patrick for a while. Long enough to show him that Pete is the one he wants, that Pete can give him everything he needs and dreams of and wants. He can buy him diamonds, gold, and the entirety of Chicagoland in exchange for his loving embrace.

 

He'd sell his house, his designer clothes, and his year-long winter wonderland. Pete would get rid of everything he cared about to wake up to Patrick. It's at about that point that Pete begins to realize he has a problem. He's not fucking gay. He's not in love with Patrick. The kid means the world to him, but there's one thing he doesn't have, and that's tits. Well, if Pete really thinks about it...

 

_No._

 

No, no, no, no, no.  


No squared, multiplied by no to the eighteenth power.  


These feelings, these _lies_ of a love confession seem to be wrapping around Pete like a bouquet of roses. He is a brick house, they are the poison ivy ever-so-strangling around his foundation. If Pete goes to a doctor, can they fix it? Will they remove his heart and call it a day? Then, will they liberate him from those blue eyes haunting his every waking hour? Would he be free from the name whispered, no,  _moaned_ at night when everyone is asleep and he's still prisoner to last week's time zone? Is that all it would take, or would Pete have to remove his own heart? Would he have to do it himself, draw it out long enough where he'd never want to put it back in? Then, would he finally forget about Patrick? Would he keep his empty promise of never, ever thinking another thought about his best friend?

 

Pete wakes up to pale arms and intense breathing against his collar. His addiction has come crawling back to him, likely owing to absence of blanket. Pete doesn’t mind. He’s okay with it, so long as Patrick stays warm. Tattooed arms fold around his love. Pete grins at the pleasurable contact with the younger man’s soft shirt. He ruffles the vocalist’s hair and exhales, appreciating the friction between Patrick’s stubble and his own forearm. He defies the continuous stream of dirtier thoughts entering his head. Pete nuzzles his buddy’s cheek, feigning sleep as Patrick flickers to life and grunts.  


“‘na?” Patrick inquires. “”‘s ‘at you?" he grins, licking his lips in exhaustion.

 

Anna.  


Pete rolls his eyes from where the other man can’t see, accidentally kicking Patrick in the balls from in front of him. Patrick moans, twitching into him, and Pete regrets to say he’s found sanctuary as a result of unintentionally hurting his best friend. Only, next time, he’ll try not to hurt him, so long as he keeps  _her_ name far away from him. It’s _Pete_ that’s doing this, not Anna. He is not her. He is better than her.  


Patrick jumps back, clutching a complimentary airline pillow to his chest. “D-Dude,” he drawls, “you kicked me in the nuts, what the hell?” Pete snickers under his breaths, because, once again, Patrick may as well be the cutest fucking thing he’s ever seen or heard.

 

“Sorry, Rick,” Pete smiles, fluttering his eyelashes as he rolls out of the chair and falls with a bump to the floor. “You made any pretty songs to sing for me today? I got more words for ya,” he grins, feeling like the Cheshire Cat to Patrick’s Alice. Later, they could have a tea party. Nobody but them and some music.

 

Patrick shakes his head, unkempt copper bangs flying in his face as he pats over his hair to ensure his hat hadn’t fallen off in the night. He had always been insecure about the bald spot it covered, but Pete didn’t mind. He might tease his friend about it now and then, but after all it was a part of Patrick, and Patrick was picture-perfect. Bald spot and all. “I have tracks I’m working on, but nothing too serious yet. I can’t do anything right these days, unlike you,” he grins, but Pete’s smile falters.

 

“Hey, don’t you ever say that, Rick. You have more talent in your left pinky than I have in my whole body. Remember how mad you got that one time? I can’t even play, man!” Pete hollers, his contagious laugh spreading joy to the rest of the cabin. Joe and Andy were up now. They’d know when and where they’re finally landing. It was as if they’d been on this flight for hours, falling further down the rabbit hole with each minute that passed.  


“You’re talented, Pete,” Patrick said solemnly.  


It could be a trick of the light or his state of mind, but damn Pete to hell if Patrick isn’t charming as ever right now. It’s times such as these when Pete wishes to scream his love confession from the rooftops. When there’s nobody to bother them or ruin the moment. Pete needs to tame these occasions, make them his own. If he could, he’d give it everything he had. He’d cherish the moments where the only words exchanged are comments about the other. He’d rent a valley for two, decorated with nothing but a tree, tire swing and picnic blanket. They’d eat, chase each other through the plain, fall in love.

 

_Kiss him, kiss him. What are you waiting for, Pete?_

 

Here, he’s waiting for one of his ideas.

  


He’s waiting for the worst plan ever to come upon man, an idea to kill thousands and cause pain to twice as many.

 

Pete is waiting for a good chance to ruin his existence, his career.  


He will paint his passion on every building in Chicago if he has to do so. Nothing can bring him to leave this. Not on his heart or his love.  


So he chickens out.

 

“How about we compromise?” Pete hates that word. Everyone should have everything they want, on their terms. Nobody else dictates your life. He will write that somewhere later, for another unheard love song. “We are both talented in our own ways. You’re the voice of the generation,” he muses.  


“And you’re the wizard behind the curtain,” Patrick insists. He wasn’t incorrect. Pete can never give these kids a heart or a brain, but he can help them find ones in places they’d never expect. Nobody had expected this whirlwind called Fall Out Boy to whisk them away. Now, they were in Oz, a land in technicolor filled with America’s Suitehearts, with coke-sniffing kids and nothing but lost dreams for miles. All they could do now is complain. It reminded Pete of how insignificant he was.  


He and Patrick should have a baby. Not actually. They can find a kid, fresh from the streets, He’d be their Cinderella, Patrick being the fairy godmother. The label can get him a contract, they can still pump out hits through a middleman, even after they turn irrelevant.

The thought is comforting to Pete. He likes knowing that after he's old and gray, he'll still be able to follow his dream. Even if this band thing doesn't work out, he'll be able to stay with Patrick for as long as they both live. Their friendship doesn't have to be ruined by awkward confessions. He doesn't have to be heartbroken. If Pete forgets about this, if he just lets it go and stays friends with Patrick, he'll never have to lose him. Patrick is his golden ticket, after all. He'd be nowhere without him. Perhaps he'd even be dead without Patrick. He despises self pity, doesn't like to dwell on the past, but Patrick could be an angel. Patrick could be HIS angel.

 

After all these years, being nothing more than friends with Patrick has been more fulfilling to Pete than any romantic relationship he's ever had. Questioning his sexuality had been a wild trip, but he settled on "somewhat straight" and left it. Today, he's not so sure about the accuracy of that label.

 

In comes the wedge.

 

"Hey, guys. We're landing in thirty minutes, pack up your stuff." Joe dashes into the room as if he was a jet himself, hollering loudly and stomping back into wherever he and Andy had set up camp for the night.

 

Pete pauses. "Dude, where are we landing? Come back, douche!" He means the last part more than he's meant anything he's ever said. Joe is a douche. He is a douche for getting in the way of his Patrick time. Joe needs to go. Hopefully he and Patrick will get more time together when they're back on land.

 

"We're in Anaheim, dude," the guitarist continues obnoxiously, running back into the room. His feet stamp loudly against the carpeted floor of the plane, and he isn't wearing a shirt. Patrick looks visibly uncomfortable.

 

"I'm gonna, uh, go pack. Put a shirt on, Trohman. You guys just holler when you need me," Patrick finalizes, turning to Pete. "Wentz, don't abuse the Patrick hotline. If nobody's being hurt, don't call me. Go eat."

 

That hurt a little bit, to be quite honest. "Mm. Gotcha, Mister PMS," Pete snickers. Nothing like a little bit of teasing to hide your embarrassment.

 

Patrick only nods silently, and Pete grows concerned.

 

"Rick? What's going on? Are you alright?" What's wrong? Who does Pete need to hurt?

 

"Nothing, Pete. You're going to get mad," Patrick spits.

 

What the fuck? No, he won't. Does he give off that impression? What?

 

"I won't. What's going on?"

 

"I need help." Patrick bites his lip, and Pete feels his jeans tighten.

 

"With what?" Pete's on the edge of his seat. What can he do? Does he need a kiss?

 

"I need help proposing, Pete. I need you to help me propose to Anna."


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick proposes.

The suit he chooses is blue. Not a tacky, obnoxious blue, but the color of the lonesome night, the shade of misery and mystery. Pete thinks it’s tragic. He tightens Patrick’s tie for him, because he prefers to look at him—all of him—before he can’t. Pete wants Patrick’s clumsy mistakes, such as the time he put both feet in the same leg of his pants. He wants the little giggles when he finds something hilarious but is too embarrassed to admit it. Pete needs to witness these things, and he didn’t expect for this to hurt so much. He wanted time—a year, two even. Now that Patrick’s proposing, will he want kids? Does that mean he will leave the band to start a family? Will Pete ever see him again? The thoughts are fleeting, because Pete didn’t realize how much he’s taken his best friend for granted until he lost him. Everyone expects marriage to be a happy thing. Was it? Was anything happy anymore? Pete is in the middle of a solar eclipse. The sun has gone away, and all there is to see now is an endless array of shadow. Everything that the sun watched over and created, all those years ago, he has abandoned. He supposes it’s common for creators to become afraid of their own creations. He assumed Patrick was better than that.

 

“You are so handsome,” Pete whispers. It’s like a threat, a triple-dog dare for Anna to come out and try to beat his compliment. Pete’ll marry too, to get back at him. How could he do this? How could he tell Pete he loved her? Fall Out Boy has been on land for the past three hours,. Pete has counted the seconds, and he’s sure. Another lazy break day before a string of concerts has become an arms race; it is now a game to see who can break their own heart the fastest. Pete is certain of his victory.

 

Patrick’s children might have his eyes and her hair. It could be the other way around. All Pete knows is that they will be gorgeous, no matter what sequence of genetics they end up taking. It’s Pete’s fault for letting this take place. He should’ve done something, said something! He had chances to tell Patrick how he felt, and everything is spoiled now. They might never talk again. Fall Out Boy may be over after tonight. He isn’t being dramatic, he’s planning! What if he abandons them? What if they think he’s abandoning them, but she’s locked him up in the basement for reproductive purposes? She would do that, Pete’s certain. She’ll probe him, then he’ll be sorry. He’ll come running back, all  _“oh, Pete, she probed me, I didn’t know this would happen, boo hoo”_! Pete will laugh, because he knew it would happen all along. Patrick is just a dumb blond, susceptible to the manipulation of girls like her. And, trust Pete, he's not just thinking all of these violent, terrible things because she's in love with Patrick. He's thinking all of this because SHE'S in love with Patrick. If it were any other girl, he'd have no problems with it. Hell, if it were anyone else, he'd endorse it. He just doesn't tolerate cheating bitches near his Patrick.

He’d realized for a long time, but kept the confidential information to himself. She’d swing the blame onto him, and Patrick wouldn’t trust him in a million years. Besides, he’s still a little kid in a grown man’s body. He has the emotional security of a plastic cup, and self-esteem worse than Pete’s. It’d kill Pete to break the kid’s heart.

 

“Do you figure she’ll say yes?” Patrick isn’t smiling. He’s shaking, pale as a ceramic figurine, and Pete’s scared he might collapse and break.

 

“I know she will,” Pete replies, comforting as he can be while still cursing her name. Patrick was supposed to be his. He could care for him. He wouldn’t go behind his back.

 

 

Patrick’s face lights up, and Pete’s heart is on fire. “I’m so in love with her,” Patrick weeps, beaming wide as Pete wipes his tears. “Everything she does... Pete, I’m s-so happy.”

 

 

He knows, and nods. “You’re gonna do so well. Remember what we went over.”

 

 

“I don’t remember it, Pete,” he reveals, but Pete does. He recalls every line, every little crack it made in his heart and every sob it brought him when he was alone in the aftermath. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be better if it’s from the heart, a’ight? You shouldn’t take proposal advice from me anyway,” he reassures Patrick. “Can I come to the wedding?”

 

 

Patrick squeals, his voice cracking from shock. “... Pete...” He pulls Pete into a hug, and the latter is crushed in more ways than one.

 

 

“It’s time for you to go, Rick. It’ll be all right. Tell me about it when you get back to the hotel, alright?” He almost wants Patrick to leave, wants him to leave so he can have the room to himself. Patrick being here is breaking his heart.

 

 

“O- Alright,” Patrick murmurs, and Pete feels a little guilty as his friend trudges out of the room to meet with Anna.

 

 

The door shuts, and Pete retreats to beneath the sheets. He unzips his pants and sighs at the relief, thumbing through the channels on the television as he jerks himself.

 

 

All that comes to mind is Patrick.

 

 

When morning arrives, he wakes to screaming and sobbing from the room next door. Joe and Andy have barricaded Patrick in their room, and from the looks of it, nobody’s slept in a while. Patrick’s eyes are bloodshot, and his lips quiver as he claws at his own skin. He reminds Pete of a deer with its leg caught in a bear trap.

 

A scream fills the room when Pete enters the suite. Patrick is sobbing his eyes out. It breaks Pete’s heart. “Pete,” he wails, “Pete, please, just”—Patrick coughs—“Pete, please, kill me, Pete, she...”

 

Pete wants to disappear. He’s never seen Patrick this low, and never will again. Patrick, his sunshine. The soul of the group, who made everything sweeter. It seemed as if he always had everything under control despite his social and emotional difficulties, but this wasn’t him. If it was, it was a distorted version. A prototype that never made it to the final product, that haunted beneath the surface. He dashes to Patrick’s side, caressing his arm and combing through his soft hair. “Patrick, Patrick, Patrick... Sweetie, sugar...” He wants to help him. He wants to heal him. Can anything be right anymore? “I’m gonna cancel the tour until further notice. You take all the time you need.”

 

That produces an unworldly shriek from Patrick. “No,” he insists, a toddler having candy taken from him. “You are not canceling my fucking shows, you bastard!” Pete knows how important these shows are to Patrick. He understands how the adrenaline rush makes him feel and how much he loves seeing all the kids so happy. Patrick always hates disappointing people, and he wouldn’t miss a show if it were his wedding day. Pete reminds himself to select better analogies for the future. He’s stuck in a very tricky situation, one where he makes a choice. That choice? Sacrifice the shows for Patrick’s mental condition, or Patrick’s mental condition for the

 

“I know she will,” Pete replies, comforting as he can be while still cursing her name. Patrick was supposed to be his. He could care for him. He wouldn’t go behind his back.

 

Patrick’s face lights up, and Pete’s heart is on fire. “I’m so in love with her,” Patrick weeps, beaming wide as Pete wipes his tears. “Everything she does... Pete, I’m s-so happy.”

 

He knows, and nods. “You’re gonna do so well. Just remember what we went over.”

 

“I don’t remember it, Pete,” he reveals, but Pete does. He recalls every line, every little crack it made in his heart and every sob it brought him when he was alone in the aftermath. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be better if it’s from the heart, a’ight? You shouldn’t take proposal advice from me anyway,” he reassures Patrick. “Can I come to the wedding?”

 

Patrick squeals, his voice cracking from shock. “... Pete...” He pulls Pete into a hug, and the latter feels crushed in more ways than one.  
  
“It’s time for you to go, Rick. It’ll be all right. Tell me about it when you get back to the hotel, alright?” He almost wants Patrick to leave, wants him to leave so he can have the room to himself. Patrick being here is breaking his heart.  
  
“O- Alright,” Patrick murmurs, and Pete feels a little guilty as his friend trudges out of the room to meet with Anna.  
  
The door shuts, and Pete retreats to beneath the sheets. He unzips his pants and sighs at the relief, thumbing through the channels on the television as he jerks himself.  
  
All that comes to mind is Patrick.  
  
When morning arrives, he wakes to screaming and sobbing from the room next door. Joe and Andy have barricaded Patrick in their room, and from the looks of it, nobody’s slept in a while. Patrick’s eyes are bloodshot, and his lips quiver as he claws at his own skin. He reminds Pete of a deer with its leg caught in a bear trap.  
A scream fills the room when Pete enters the suite. Patrick is sobbing his eyes out. It breaks Pete’s heart. “Pete,” he wails, “Pete, please, just”—Patrick coughs—“Pete, please, kill me, Pete, she...”  
Pete wants to disappear. He’s never seen Patrick this low, and never will again. Patrick, his sunshine. The soul of the group, who made everything sweeter. It seemed as if he always had everything under control despite his social and emotional difficulties, but this wasn’t him. If it was, it was a distorted version. A prototype that never made it to the final product, that haunted beneath the surface. He dashes to Patrick’s side, caressing his arm and combing through his soft hair. “Patrick, Patrick, Patrick... Sweetie, sugar...” He wants to help him. He wants to heal him. Can anything be right anymore? “I’m gonna cancel the tour until further notice. You take all the time you need.”  
  
That produces an unworldly shriek from Patrick. “No,” he insists, a toddler having candy taken from him. “You are not canceling my fucking shows, you bastard!” Pete knows how important these shows are to Patrick. He understands how the adrenaline rush makes him feel and how much he loves seeing all the kids so happy. Patrick always hates disappointing people, and he wouldn’t miss a show if it were his wedding day. Pete reminds himself to select better analogies for the future. He’s stuck in a very tricky situation, one where he makes a choice. That choice? Sacrifice the shows for Patrick’s mental condition, or Patrick’s mental condition for the shows.

“Patrick... Patrick, I love you, you know this, but I- I can’t let you sit here and waste away like this.. If I let you play any more shows, I will feel guilty as hell, Rick... I’m so worried something’s gonna happen to you, and you know the promise I made to your mom, man--"

Patrick hisses scornfully. “I’m a grown-ass man, Peter. I don’t need to babied by you and my mom anymore. I can handle myself, and I’m playing those goddamn shows. You can’t fucking make me.” The vocalist calms down, lifting his hat and running calloused fingers through his hair. He sniffles quietly as he slowly accepts Pete’s embrace. “I’m sorry I lashed out at you, Pete,” he apologizes quietly, “Last night was... rough,” he mumbles.

Clenched teeth relax. “It’s okay, Patrick. I know I’m kind of bad help, but we’re all going to try our best to help you out of this, okay? Your mental recovery is the top priority right now. And then,” he sighs, “If you want to go back out on the field and date again, we’ll support you the whole way, all right? We’re your family, Rick.”

The vocalist beams. “Okay, Pete. You’re my best friend, you know?” Pete nods, and Patrick continues. “I have one question, though...” Patrick trails off, voice lined with uncertainty. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew she was cheating? Why did you wait for me to find out myself?”

Pete’s stomach sinks. “Patrick. Patrick, it’s not like that, I swear. Patrick.” He fumbles over his words, trying his best to explain without appearing a douchebag. “Patrick, please listen. I saw her with the other guy a few months ago, and I thought you knew-- there was a rumor about you being into-“

Patrick holds up a hand, gesturing for his friend to stop. “Just stop. Don’t lie, Pete. You know I hate that. I’ve been lied to enough, what’s the truth?”

Pete lowered his head shamefully, reminiscent of a puppy who pissed on the floor. "I walked in on her kissing some guy on your birthday last year. I didn't tell you because I was afraid you would kill yourself." It was true. Patrick was already stressed out enough from touring for Cork Tree at the time, and the fights with Andy almost every day seemed to make it worse. He felt terrible for holding the truth from Patrick, but sometimes he felt that the truth was too much for the kid. He didn't want to hurt him or make him hurt himself. Especially not in tough times like these. Patrick had enough problems without cheating girlfriends and whiny bassists. "I'm sorry," he finishes, pulling away from Patrick in embarrassment. He shouldn't have withheld that from the man he loves. Relationships are built on truth, after all, and he shouldn't lie if he wants to someday be with him.

"I forgive you," Patrick manages to say, even through all of this. Andy and Joe look pleased, now that Patrick has calmed down and seems to be getting along well with Pete. "I don't want to cancel any shows yet, though..." He looks disappointed. Pete is prepared to undo that.

"We won't have to," he declares confidently. "I, for one, think you can do it. If you can promise to tell us how you're feeling every now and then, we MIGHT think about letting you join our band, rookie." The singer laughs, something light and breathy. It makes Pete feel proud. "I should warn you, though, it might be a little bit hard to keep up." He missed this. He missed joking around with Patrick like this, quickly exchanging silly comebacks in their spare time.

To his shock and dismay, Patrick only holds up a hand and smiles somberly. "Not yet, dude... Sorry, I'm just- I'm still recovering from this situation... It was kind of traumatic.."

Joe butts in, and Pete's close to calling him a kissass. "Yeah, Pete. I know he's your boyfriend, and everything, but he needs some sleep and recuperation, you know? All that shit," the guitarist retorts faster than Pete can stop him. He seems to read his mind, as well. "Yeah, I'm quick, douche," he smiles, ruffling Pete's bangs. "And no, you can't watch him sleep. I know you're gonna pull all that bull about how it's for his own safety or whatever. You're a creep," Joe snickers.

Pete's plan has been ruined, and it is all Joseph Trohman's fault. "What if he falls down? He might break all his bones, then we won't have anyone to skip for us backstage," Pete guffaws, and the whole group erupts into laughter.

Andy turns to Patrick and cocks his head. "How about it? You should relax," he chides, always the doting mother of the group. "No, nobody's going to watch you, don't worry. We're just gonna keep the door cracked so we can check on you, 's that good?"

Patrick nods. Everything is safe.

Pete leaves the room, staring back at Patrick briefly before letting himself out. He leans his weight against the drywall separating his room from Joe and Andy's, listening to Patrick watch television. Family Guy. He would tease his friend about it if these were any other circumstances, but he'll just have to wait. He pulls on a dirty hoodie, fresh from his suitcase, and ties the shoelaces of his Vans tightly. He's planning on heading down to breakfast, something light to distract him. Pete's not hungry, not after this, but he'd rather eat than cause the guys to worry any more than they already have. Headphones on, world off. Morrissey is turned up loud because, god, he's feeling the whiny bitch vibes today.

_Please, please, please, let me, let me, let me, let me, get what I want, this time._

He never gets what he wants, does he? It's always " _Pete, your lyrics are good, but not good enough. Do you think the radio's gonna like this?_ " He doesn't care what the radio likes. He remembers a time where hits didn't matter. Nothing mattered, back then, except for the music and the kids who loved it. Times are different now, and the label wants an album. It's just getting rather hard to deliver the goods when the people up top tell you you're not allowed to feel a certain way. Pete could write a masterpiece, and it would never be good enough. He always will be the recipient of disappointed frowns, business cards to therapists, and endless haggling.

Maybe it's better to be hated than to be loved, though. He read a myth once about a man in Greece.

His name was Narcissus, and he was so handsome that everyone wanted to be with him. He had many loving followers, and was the talk of the land. One day, a water nymph confessed her love to him while he was out hunting, and he pushed her away in denial. The girl wailed, so upset that the man had rejected her, and faded away until all that was left was an echo of her existence. Nemesis, the goddess of retribution, discovered what had happened and banished him to a land with nothing but a pool in which he could see his own reflection. Narcissus fell in love with it, unknowing that it was his image in the pool. When he finally realized the truth about his lover, he took his own life. He would rather have died than to live without his lover. Pete saw in the myth a story of passion, tragedy, and death. He saw himself in Narcissus, a foolish young man obsessed with nothing but himself and his own success. Was Patrick his reflection? Would he die for Patrick?

 Regardless, Pete was in love. He had been in love from the moment he saw this man, only perhaps he didn't realize it from the start. It wasn't until one night, late after a show. They were all sitting on the van, shotgunning beers and pretending to stab each other. Pete looked into Patrick's eyes that night, and the way the moon flickered off of his baby blues seemed to tell him his future. He saw himself being with Patrick, as silly as it sounded at the time. He now understands that he won't be able to have that kind of future for the both of them, not in a million lifetimes. A boy can dream, though. One can only dream of a man like Patrick, all curves, soul, and sass. Pete would be lying if he said he didn't tell Patrick to go get random items from across the room just to get a good look at his ass. Patrick is his American Boy, his funky little music maker. His golden ticket to heaven. After all, how hard could it be to get an easy spot up there if you're already in love with an angel? He dreams, day and night, of being able to wake up next to him, and he can only imagine how it must feel to wake up to him in the morning. Anna must be a really stupid bitch if she'd cheat on him for some skinny bastard, if she'd give up that chance. Pete doesn't know about her, but he knows a bunch of teenage girls would kill themselves to get into Patrick's pants, so that's a little bit of a taste of what she's losing, he'd say. Patrick doesn't need her anyway, he's too good. Now that she's out of the way, Pete can try his hand. If he fails, he'll get married. Have some kids, buy a house in Glenview, give Hemmy to his mom and get a "child-safe dog". If he succeeds? He'll never complain again.

 

Three hours go by until the next time Pete sees Patrick.

When he does, he makes haste in running his hands through the singer's hair, humming delightfully. Patrick seems unsure initially, but it grows on him. "How have you been?" Pete chirps, blushing up a storm. He's not in love, he just can't help that his capillaries are close to the skin. "I missed you, like, all day! Are you alright? Do you need anything?" The tone of his voice quickly changes to one of a concerned mother watching over her sick child, and he can't help it. Patrick's features are soft, and the fact that he was just a teenager when they met really changes his perception of the kid, even now that he's grown.

His beloved only nods, full lips parting as he smiles politely. "I'm really excited for the show tonight," he gushes, "I'm glad for the relaxation day, and all, but I miss the kids a lot." It's apparent that what he says is true. Pete and Patrick seem to have a secret language that only they can understand, and Patrick always does act a bit on edge when he's not playing. Maybe he's just nervous. Pete understands, nodding sympathetically.

"We all do, man. I just want to know you're doin' alright, tha's all. We don't want to tire you out, mentally or physically. 'Cause, like, we know that this was probably really upsetting for you, and everything," Pete babbles on, trying his best to form coherent sentences,  _but it's just so hard when he's looking at Pete like that._  "Uh, was Family Guy good?" His cheeks are on fire. He is a schoolboy in the girls' locker room.

Patrick shrugs his shoulders absently, expression hardening to something more somber. "Can I tell you something, Pete? You won't understand, but, like, I need to get it off my chest," he mumbles. Pete nods furiously, the tip of his head connected to a string. Patrick is the puppet master. Pete can't say no. "Alright," the vocalist begins, avoiding Pete's glance and choosing instead to stare down at his shoes. "I, uh. Last night?" Pete's listening. Keep going. "I was supposed to meet her, like, at her hotel, 'cause we're in town, and everything..." Tell the story. Keep going, stop trailing off.

He gets to the point, voice raising in pitch and volume as he blinks back tears. "He was really fucking hot, and they were, like, doing it, in there... And, like, I walked in, and all she did was laugh, Pete! She fucking laughed!" Pete gasps. He can't help it. Patrick doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve any of this. His angel. Sweet, sweet guardian angel. Doesn't deserve to stay in this world with all these cruel, evil people.

Pete kisses Patrick. He does so with gusto, grabbing his friend's shirt and practically eating up all the little noises he's making. Fingers tangle around locks of unkempt blonde hair, and Patrick falls onto his back before Pete realizes that Patrick's begging him to stop. He lets go instantly, jaw shaking as he sits and fumbles for an adequate answer. Patrick blinks, wiping spit from his now-red lips, and rushes out of the room. It doesn't take long for Pete to identify that his love is crying in the hallway, face buried in hands as he weeps. Pete Wentz has never felt as guilty as he does now, Patrickless and red-faced in the hotel room.

**Author's Note:**

> Same time next week?


End file.
